Clarity of Vision, Chapter 9
Jun. 27th, 2013 01:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mithenTitle: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 9
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG for a bit of language.
Word Count: 3000
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: Thorin's company travels north along the coast toward Himring: in which there are language lessons, cold weather, and the first sight of the sea.
In later years, Bilbo would say that the weeks spent travelling from Annúminas to Himring were uneventful and hardly worth mentioning. That the riding was easy and no one was chasing them, and so there was little to relate. That he hardly remembered them.
The last assertion would be untrue--but then, happy, peaceful memories are rarely the stuff of legends.
: : :
They forded the Lune early, when it was relatively shallow, their ponies snorting and shaking their shaggy manes in disapproval on the other side. They followed the river south and west, with the Blue Mountains rising to their right, hazy indigo against the setting sun. There was game aplenty in the fertile valley of the Lune: pheasant and rabbit and fish from the river. Bilbo found truffles to flavor his meals, and fresh dill to add to the fish, and they ate like kings (better than kings, Thorin thought privately).
One afternoon Thorin heard Bilbo, riding ahead of him, gasp as he topped a rise and pulled his pony to a halt. Thorin hurried to catch up with him and found Bilbo, Fíli, and Kíli staring out to the west at the sea lying below them, its dark blue-green surface stretching endlessly to the horizon.
As always, on first seeing the sea, Thorin felt that tug at his heart, unwelcome and imperious. He tamped it down and cleared his throat. "Is it as impressive as you'd hoped?"
"It's..." Kíli started, gazing out at it.
"Yeah," Fíli added, nodding. "It is."
"It's really..."
"...really big."
"And beautiful."
"Yeah."
Bilbo was staring at the sea, his expression puzzled. Then his face cleared. "It's exactly the same color as Thorin's eyes," he announced with an air of triumph. He blinked as everyone but Thorin turned to look at him. "Well, it is!"
Thorin nudged his pony into a walk once more, glancing at Bilbo's face as he passed by, looking for a trace of mockery or irony. But Bilbo Baggins did not have a face made for either, and Thorin saw there only pleasantness and some confusion.
Surely he was the first dwarf in Middle-Earth to have his eyes compared to the great, wide, treacherous sea, Thorin thought with some bewilderment.
: : :
"I don't understand why we're not stopping there," Bilbo said, gazing wistfully at the distant grey walls of Mithlond, glimmering in the morning mist. "I mean, you know Sindarin, so surely--"
"--being able to read a language does not mean wishing to dally with the people who speak it," Thorin said shortly. "The history of elves and dwarves is not a kind one, and it is better not to risk stirring up old enmities."
"After all," pointed out Dwalin, "We are sort of on our way to try and pillage one of their ancient strongholds."
"Ah," said Bilbo. "Yes, well. Maybe we could ask them for help and--" He caught a glimpse of Thorin's face. "No, I suppose not."
They rode on in silence for a while, following the road that wound to the north along the coast, leaving the walls of the Grey Havens behind. "So, can you actually speak Sindarin as well as read it?" Bilbo asked idly.
"There's not much need to," Thorin said. "My interest in the language is merely academic."
"But--"
"--But yes, I can speak the tongue." Thorin paused for a moment, and then recited in a low voice, deep as the distant sea:
Le ú-iston,
amman im trastannen?
amman lalaith nîn gell?
man eneth lîn?
Bilbo and the dwarves stared at him, and he shrugged uncomfortably. "It's just a bit of poetry that stuck in my head once."
"What does it mean in Westron?" Bilbo asked.
"Nothing important," said Thorin, glowering. "Just more elvish nonsense."
And that was all they could get out of him on the topic.
: : :
They wound north up the coast, with the sea on their left hand and the Blue Mountains looming always on their right. The air was redolent with salt and silt, a deep, old smell that made the ponies sneeze and shake their heads from time to time. Bilbo found new things to eat--salty seaweed to put in soup, clams to dig out of mud flats and steam with ale. The dwarves tended to wrinkle up their noses and complain at first with each new item, but after a bite or two they tucked in with enthusiasm.
Thorin sat at the campfire, looking out at the sea as his party relaxed. Balin and Dwalin were smoking and swapping stories about their youth; Fíli was practicing his fiddle; Kíli was waxing his bow strings and complaining about the damp salt air for the hundredth time. Bilbo was using a pocketknife to pry open some mottled, purple-shelled things he had found--mussels, that was what he had called them. The tip of his tongue was sticking very slightly out of his mouth as he concentrated.
Then his hand slipped and the knife glanced along the back of his hand.
"< Fucker of orcs! >" Bilbo yelped in Khuzdul.
Five dwarvish mouths fell open. "Bilbo!" gasped Kíli, a blush creeping up his face. "Where--what--"
Bilbo grinned blithely, sucking on the back of his hand. "Oh, I've heard Dwalin say it from time to time. It sounded like, you know, the kind of thing one would say in this situation."
"I might, yes," blustered Dwalin. "But that doesn't mean you should."
Bilbo's eyes went wide in consternation. "I'm sorry, is it something terrible? I didn't mean to insult anyone--"
"--You have insulted no one," Thorin said hastily. "It is merely--well, not the kind of thing a hobbit like yourself usually would say." He stood and went over to Bilbo, eager to change the subject. "Is the wound deep?"
Bilbo held out his hand, where blood was beading along the back once more. "Not too serious. Stings, though."
Thorin reached into his pack and pulled out some bandaging. Taking Bilbo's hand in his--Bilbo opened his mouth and his fingers twitched, but then he subsided--he dabbed the blood away, then wound clean cloth around the hand. "You should be more careful, Bilbo," he said.
"Well, maybe you should teach me that language of yours, then," Bilbo retorted.
"I didn't mean with Khuzdul, you annoying halfling," grumbled Thorin. "And it is a secret language, forbidden to outsiders."
"Oh. Well, then," said Bilbo. "I see." His hand, lying in Thorin's, went oddly inert.
"Actually," said Balin, and Thorin focused on the bandages and tried not to look too eager, "The Book of Maluk-zaghal says 'anyone who walks the road of the people for a full moon is of the people.' Couldn't that be taken to mean that once Bilbo has traveled with us for a month he will be an honorary dwarf and can be taught Khuzdul?"
"I think so!" chorused Fíli and Kíli.
Thorin frowned as if he were considering. "I don't believe any non-dwarf has ever traveled with a company of dwarves for so long."
"I wonder why that is?" Bilbo said tartly.
"Perhaps because we are difficult and contrary beings, and not pleasant traveling companions," said Thorin gravely, meeting his eyes.
"Oh, I didn't mean--you're--you're all fine, very--very pleasant," Bilbo stammered.
Thorin tied off the bandage and released Bilbo's hand. "When did Bilbo start to travel with you?" he asked his nephews.
They cast their eyes upward, remembering. "It was...just after the new moon," said Fíli.
"And now the moon is waning once more. It will be new within a few days," said Thorin. Bilbo was looking at his bandaged hand and flexing the fingers gingerly. Thorin reflected that the amount of bandaging might have been out of proportion to the depth of the cut. He cleared his throat and spoke to Bilbo. "Would you be willing to learn Khuzdul?"
"Why, certainly!" Bilbo beamed. "I love languages almost as much as I love maps."
"Very well," said Thorin. "When the moon is new, Balin shall become your tutor."
Bilbo's face fell slightly. "Oh, ah. Balin, yes. Excellent choice. Yes." He nodded a few times. "Hm." He looked at his hand again. "I suppose this means that I shouldn't use the other phrase I heard Dwalin use, < sucker of goblin dick >."
Thorin felt himself pale, and he shot a look at Dwalin, who was doing something Thorin had never seen him do--blush. "No," he said to Bilbo, "That also is a term that does not suit a hobbit."
"That's a shame," sighed Bilbo. "It sounded so nicely angry."
: : :
The air was growing colder as they traveled north and as fall progressed. Early one morning it was bad enough that Bilbo found himself hopping up and down, chafing his arms to warm up as he waited for the potatoes to roast. Thorin made a grumbling noise and rolled over, blinking at him from bleary eyes.
"Sorry. Didn't really pack for a long journey," Bilbo explained.
Thorin looked at him, considering. Then he rose from his bedroll, grabbed his coat, and cast it around Bilbo's shoulders.
Bilbo blinked as he was engulfed in leather and fur. "A trifle big for me, don't you think?"
"It will do for now," Thorin said. "We shall find you something more your size at another time."
Bilbo gingerly pulled it tighter, feeling the fur brushing his neck. It was softer than he had imagined--not that he had spent much time looking at that thick russet ruff and wondering what it would feel like to sink his fingers deep into it. "Won't you be cold?"
"Dwarves are made of sterner stuff than hobbits," Thorin said. "We do not feel the cold as keenly."
"Ah." Bilbo looked around the camp. All the other dwarves were still asleep. He pulled the potatoes away from the fire and checked them, adding a little salt and pepper. "Too bad we've no butter," he mused out loud. Hoisting the potatoes on their platter, invited Thorin to join him with a tilt of his eyebrows.
Together they went a little way from the camp to let the others sleep. Bilbo clambered up on a smooth rock--with some difficulty due to the enveloping coat--to look out over the ocean once more, while Thorin sat at the base, his back to the stone.
"I'm hoping Dwalin can catch more salmon soon," Bilbo said as he started to eat the potatoes. "My goodness, what a treat that was."
Thorin grunted, his mouth full.
"It reminded me of the food at Otho and Lobelia's wedding," Bilbo reminisced. "Horrible people, but they know how to throw a party, I'll give them that."
"What's that?"
"Oh, Otho and Lobelia? They're Sackville-Bagginses, odious people, really."
"No, the 'wedding' thing." He pronounced the Westron as if it were unfamiliar, and Bilbo blinked down at him.
"It's--wait, you don't know what a wedding is?"
"I've heard the term here and there, traveling in human lands. It's a kind of party, right? Like a harvest festival?"
"No, it's--well, it's sort of a party," Bilbo had to admit in the interest of strict accuracy. "But it's a party where two people pledge to--promise to spend the rest of their lives together." Thorin was frowning. "You must have your own word for it."
"Why would you need to promise something like that?" Thorin was frowning. "Is this some kind of mystical binding-process halflings do?"
"What? No, of course not. Do dwarves--" Bilbo broke off, suddenly feeling that he was getting into deep water. He took a breath. "Do dwarves often change partners?"
Thorin looked like he couldn't decide whether to be confused or angry. "Your partner is your partner. Your mate. Promising has nothing to do with it. When you are together, you are together." He shrugged. "In any case, most of us are remain unmated. Finding a partner is a very private thing. We do not need to parade our mates around in public."
"It's not--you make it sound rather awful," Bilbo said. "And it's not! A wedding is great fun. There's always lots of food and dancing, and people are happy, and they tell stories and sing. And it's...I don't know. I guess hobbits just like to let everyone know, 'this is the person I've chosen from everyone to share my life with, to walk the road together. This is the person I cherish above all others.'" Thorin was looking up at him, his expression hard to read. "I'm not explaining well," Bilbo said, frustrated. "You should come to a Shire wedding sometime, I'm sure you'd understand then."
"Hm," said Thorin. "Invite me to yours one day, and I shall see if I can understand what all the fuss is about."
Bilbo was about to respond, but then he heard the sound of Fíli's voice from the camp, complaining bitterly: "Mahal's damnation, it's cold!" Kíli's voice joined in soon after, and Bilbo could hear his teeth chattering: "Can we go back to Erebor? This is horrible!"
Bilbo looked down at Thorin in his thin shirt. "Sterner stuff than hobbits?"
Thorin looked both annoyed and chagrined at the same time. "Well, most dwarves are made of sterner stuff than hobbits." He stood, brushing off his plate. "No, keep it," he said as Bilbo tried to shrug out of the coat. "We'll find you something more suitable soon."
He headed back to camp, and soon Bilbo could hear him yelling at his nephews to warm up by packing, they needed to be on the road soon.
Bilbo lingered for a moment, looking out at the ocean, the sea breeze ruffling the fur at his throat.
Wondering why the idea of Thorin attending his wedding made him feel sad.
: : :
"Balin! Balin! The moon was new last night!" said Kíli as they mounted. "You can start teaching Bilbo Khuzdul!"
"Oh, I suppose I can," Balin said, bringing his pony alongside Bilbo's. "Now, it is important to begin with declension. In Westron, conjugation is essential--I'm not saying Khuzdul doesn't have conjugation issues as well, but declension is really the key."
"Ah," said Bilbo, nodding. "I see."
"It's quite simple, really. There are five main cases to remember: the ablative, nominative, accusative, locational, and instrumental." He stopped, pondering. "There's the vocative as well, but that's used rarely, we don't need it to start with."
He started explaining about the ablative case--"used to express motion away from something else, of course"--but got sidetracked into the cultural reasons behind the importance of the case. Bilbo tried to pay attention, but soon was completely lost in a maze of grammar. He would have asked questions, but he couldn't even tell what he wasn't understanding.
Balin had gone on to the accusative case--"for marking the direct object of a transitive verb"--when Thorin kicked his pony into a trot and rode in between them. "By Durin's beard, Balin," he snarled. "You may know a great deal about Khuzdul grammar, but you know nothing of teaching a language."
Balin looked offended. "Oh? I suppose you think you could do better?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
Balin glared at him. "Well then, I shall leave the teaching to you," he announced, falling back in something of a huff.
Thorin rode beside Bilbo for a while in silence, until Bilbo started to wonder if perhaps he was never going to learn Khuzdul at all. Then he pointed at himself. "Khuzd," he said. He pointed at Bilbo. "Melekûn."
Bilbo repeated the words.
Thorin indicated the rest of the party with a sweeping motion. "Khazad."
"Oh, so the plural is made by changing the vowels?"
Thorin shot a triumphant glance at Balin, then back at Bilbo. "Indeed." He pointed to Fíli and Kíli. "Khuzdith."
"Nephew dwarves?" Thorin frowned. "Um...young dwarves?"
Thorin nodded. "So, then. If a horse is kharub, then a young horse is..."
Bilbo did some mental calculations. "Kharubith?"
Thorin slapped his horse's neck, grinning. "You are speaking Khuzdul already."
They rode through the morning, with Bilbo pointing at rivers, birds, trees, and Thorin telling him their names and the different declensions to change what the nouns meant.
The other dwarves trailed slightly behind them; when Bilbo turned back to look at them once he caught Balin and Dwalin sharing a smug look as Thorin was patiently repeating a sentence in Khuzdul. Bilbo raised his eyebrows: apparently Balin had deliberately gotten out of teaching him? Well! Bilbo felt slightly offended--he didn't think he was that bad a student.
Thorin repeated his question more slowly, and Bilbo realized he was waiting for a response. "Oh!" Bilbo blurted, then painstakingly put together, "< The sea--is--big. >"
"Good work," said Thorin, nodding in satisfaction. "You make a satisfactory honorary dwarf."
Bilbo couldn't help it: he threw back his head and laughed.
Daffodil's ears twitched back and she snorted; Thorin looked much the same. "What's so funny?"
"I'm just wondering how I would go about making you all honorary hobbits," Bilbo said. "You'd probably have to attend a dance or something, or learn how to properly steep tea." He wiped his eyes. "Oh, it would be hilarious. The Shire would never be the same."
Thorin looked disgruntled. "I am not unable to dance," he muttered.
"I want to see the Shire someday, Uncle!" said Fíli.
"I want to be an honorary hobbit!" said Kíli.
"I think if you want to be, you can," said Bilbo. He waved his hand. "You are now all officially honorary hobbits."
The nephews cheered, and Balin and Dwalin laughed. Only Thorin still looked annoyed.
"I could have mastered any dance you set me as a challenge," he grumbled before turning back to the language lessons.
----
Note: The poem that Thorin recites is from the end of Cuil nîn prestannen, "My life is changed," a poem written in Sindarin and available here. Translated into English, the words are:
I do not know you-
Why am I stirred?
Why is my laughter so happy?
What is your name?
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG for a bit of language.
Word Count: 3000
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: Thorin's company travels north along the coast toward Himring: in which there are language lessons, cold weather, and the first sight of the sea.
In later years, Bilbo would say that the weeks spent travelling from Annúminas to Himring were uneventful and hardly worth mentioning. That the riding was easy and no one was chasing them, and so there was little to relate. That he hardly remembered them.
The last assertion would be untrue--but then, happy, peaceful memories are rarely the stuff of legends.
: : :
They forded the Lune early, when it was relatively shallow, their ponies snorting and shaking their shaggy manes in disapproval on the other side. They followed the river south and west, with the Blue Mountains rising to their right, hazy indigo against the setting sun. There was game aplenty in the fertile valley of the Lune: pheasant and rabbit and fish from the river. Bilbo found truffles to flavor his meals, and fresh dill to add to the fish, and they ate like kings (better than kings, Thorin thought privately).
One afternoon Thorin heard Bilbo, riding ahead of him, gasp as he topped a rise and pulled his pony to a halt. Thorin hurried to catch up with him and found Bilbo, Fíli, and Kíli staring out to the west at the sea lying below them, its dark blue-green surface stretching endlessly to the horizon.
As always, on first seeing the sea, Thorin felt that tug at his heart, unwelcome and imperious. He tamped it down and cleared his throat. "Is it as impressive as you'd hoped?"
"It's..." Kíli started, gazing out at it.
"Yeah," Fíli added, nodding. "It is."
"It's really..."
"...really big."
"And beautiful."
"Yeah."
Bilbo was staring at the sea, his expression puzzled. Then his face cleared. "It's exactly the same color as Thorin's eyes," he announced with an air of triumph. He blinked as everyone but Thorin turned to look at him. "Well, it is!"
Thorin nudged his pony into a walk once more, glancing at Bilbo's face as he passed by, looking for a trace of mockery or irony. But Bilbo Baggins did not have a face made for either, and Thorin saw there only pleasantness and some confusion.
Surely he was the first dwarf in Middle-Earth to have his eyes compared to the great, wide, treacherous sea, Thorin thought with some bewilderment.
: : :
"I don't understand why we're not stopping there," Bilbo said, gazing wistfully at the distant grey walls of Mithlond, glimmering in the morning mist. "I mean, you know Sindarin, so surely--"
"--being able to read a language does not mean wishing to dally with the people who speak it," Thorin said shortly. "The history of elves and dwarves is not a kind one, and it is better not to risk stirring up old enmities."
"After all," pointed out Dwalin, "We are sort of on our way to try and pillage one of their ancient strongholds."
"Ah," said Bilbo. "Yes, well. Maybe we could ask them for help and--" He caught a glimpse of Thorin's face. "No, I suppose not."
They rode on in silence for a while, following the road that wound to the north along the coast, leaving the walls of the Grey Havens behind. "So, can you actually speak Sindarin as well as read it?" Bilbo asked idly.
"There's not much need to," Thorin said. "My interest in the language is merely academic."
"But--"
"--But yes, I can speak the tongue." Thorin paused for a moment, and then recited in a low voice, deep as the distant sea:
Le ú-iston,
amman im trastannen?
amman lalaith nîn gell?
man eneth lîn?
Bilbo and the dwarves stared at him, and he shrugged uncomfortably. "It's just a bit of poetry that stuck in my head once."
"What does it mean in Westron?" Bilbo asked.
"Nothing important," said Thorin, glowering. "Just more elvish nonsense."
And that was all they could get out of him on the topic.
: : :
They wound north up the coast, with the sea on their left hand and the Blue Mountains looming always on their right. The air was redolent with salt and silt, a deep, old smell that made the ponies sneeze and shake their heads from time to time. Bilbo found new things to eat--salty seaweed to put in soup, clams to dig out of mud flats and steam with ale. The dwarves tended to wrinkle up their noses and complain at first with each new item, but after a bite or two they tucked in with enthusiasm.
Thorin sat at the campfire, looking out at the sea as his party relaxed. Balin and Dwalin were smoking and swapping stories about their youth; Fíli was practicing his fiddle; Kíli was waxing his bow strings and complaining about the damp salt air for the hundredth time. Bilbo was using a pocketknife to pry open some mottled, purple-shelled things he had found--mussels, that was what he had called them. The tip of his tongue was sticking very slightly out of his mouth as he concentrated.
Then his hand slipped and the knife glanced along the back of his hand.
"< Fucker of orcs! >" Bilbo yelped in Khuzdul.
Five dwarvish mouths fell open. "Bilbo!" gasped Kíli, a blush creeping up his face. "Where--what--"
Bilbo grinned blithely, sucking on the back of his hand. "Oh, I've heard Dwalin say it from time to time. It sounded like, you know, the kind of thing one would say in this situation."
"I might, yes," blustered Dwalin. "But that doesn't mean you should."
Bilbo's eyes went wide in consternation. "I'm sorry, is it something terrible? I didn't mean to insult anyone--"
"--You have insulted no one," Thorin said hastily. "It is merely--well, not the kind of thing a hobbit like yourself usually would say." He stood and went over to Bilbo, eager to change the subject. "Is the wound deep?"
Bilbo held out his hand, where blood was beading along the back once more. "Not too serious. Stings, though."
Thorin reached into his pack and pulled out some bandaging. Taking Bilbo's hand in his--Bilbo opened his mouth and his fingers twitched, but then he subsided--he dabbed the blood away, then wound clean cloth around the hand. "You should be more careful, Bilbo," he said.
"Well, maybe you should teach me that language of yours, then," Bilbo retorted.
"I didn't mean with Khuzdul, you annoying halfling," grumbled Thorin. "And it is a secret language, forbidden to outsiders."
"Oh. Well, then," said Bilbo. "I see." His hand, lying in Thorin's, went oddly inert.
"Actually," said Balin, and Thorin focused on the bandages and tried not to look too eager, "The Book of Maluk-zaghal says 'anyone who walks the road of the people for a full moon is of the people.' Couldn't that be taken to mean that once Bilbo has traveled with us for a month he will be an honorary dwarf and can be taught Khuzdul?"
"I think so!" chorused Fíli and Kíli.
Thorin frowned as if he were considering. "I don't believe any non-dwarf has ever traveled with a company of dwarves for so long."
"I wonder why that is?" Bilbo said tartly.
"Perhaps because we are difficult and contrary beings, and not pleasant traveling companions," said Thorin gravely, meeting his eyes.
"Oh, I didn't mean--you're--you're all fine, very--very pleasant," Bilbo stammered.
Thorin tied off the bandage and released Bilbo's hand. "When did Bilbo start to travel with you?" he asked his nephews.
They cast their eyes upward, remembering. "It was...just after the new moon," said Fíli.
"And now the moon is waning once more. It will be new within a few days," said Thorin. Bilbo was looking at his bandaged hand and flexing the fingers gingerly. Thorin reflected that the amount of bandaging might have been out of proportion to the depth of the cut. He cleared his throat and spoke to Bilbo. "Would you be willing to learn Khuzdul?"
"Why, certainly!" Bilbo beamed. "I love languages almost as much as I love maps."
"Very well," said Thorin. "When the moon is new, Balin shall become your tutor."
Bilbo's face fell slightly. "Oh, ah. Balin, yes. Excellent choice. Yes." He nodded a few times. "Hm." He looked at his hand again. "I suppose this means that I shouldn't use the other phrase I heard Dwalin use, < sucker of goblin dick >."
Thorin felt himself pale, and he shot a look at Dwalin, who was doing something Thorin had never seen him do--blush. "No," he said to Bilbo, "That also is a term that does not suit a hobbit."
"That's a shame," sighed Bilbo. "It sounded so nicely angry."
: : :
The air was growing colder as they traveled north and as fall progressed. Early one morning it was bad enough that Bilbo found himself hopping up and down, chafing his arms to warm up as he waited for the potatoes to roast. Thorin made a grumbling noise and rolled over, blinking at him from bleary eyes.
"Sorry. Didn't really pack for a long journey," Bilbo explained.
Thorin looked at him, considering. Then he rose from his bedroll, grabbed his coat, and cast it around Bilbo's shoulders.
Bilbo blinked as he was engulfed in leather and fur. "A trifle big for me, don't you think?"
"It will do for now," Thorin said. "We shall find you something more your size at another time."
Bilbo gingerly pulled it tighter, feeling the fur brushing his neck. It was softer than he had imagined--not that he had spent much time looking at that thick russet ruff and wondering what it would feel like to sink his fingers deep into it. "Won't you be cold?"
"Dwarves are made of sterner stuff than hobbits," Thorin said. "We do not feel the cold as keenly."
"Ah." Bilbo looked around the camp. All the other dwarves were still asleep. He pulled the potatoes away from the fire and checked them, adding a little salt and pepper. "Too bad we've no butter," he mused out loud. Hoisting the potatoes on their platter, invited Thorin to join him with a tilt of his eyebrows.
Together they went a little way from the camp to let the others sleep. Bilbo clambered up on a smooth rock--with some difficulty due to the enveloping coat--to look out over the ocean once more, while Thorin sat at the base, his back to the stone.
"I'm hoping Dwalin can catch more salmon soon," Bilbo said as he started to eat the potatoes. "My goodness, what a treat that was."
Thorin grunted, his mouth full.
"It reminded me of the food at Otho and Lobelia's wedding," Bilbo reminisced. "Horrible people, but they know how to throw a party, I'll give them that."
"What's that?"
"Oh, Otho and Lobelia? They're Sackville-Bagginses, odious people, really."
"No, the 'wedding' thing." He pronounced the Westron as if it were unfamiliar, and Bilbo blinked down at him.
"It's--wait, you don't know what a wedding is?"
"I've heard the term here and there, traveling in human lands. It's a kind of party, right? Like a harvest festival?"
"No, it's--well, it's sort of a party," Bilbo had to admit in the interest of strict accuracy. "But it's a party where two people pledge to--promise to spend the rest of their lives together." Thorin was frowning. "You must have your own word for it."
"Why would you need to promise something like that?" Thorin was frowning. "Is this some kind of mystical binding-process halflings do?"
"What? No, of course not. Do dwarves--" Bilbo broke off, suddenly feeling that he was getting into deep water. He took a breath. "Do dwarves often change partners?"
Thorin looked like he couldn't decide whether to be confused or angry. "Your partner is your partner. Your mate. Promising has nothing to do with it. When you are together, you are together." He shrugged. "In any case, most of us are remain unmated. Finding a partner is a very private thing. We do not need to parade our mates around in public."
"It's not--you make it sound rather awful," Bilbo said. "And it's not! A wedding is great fun. There's always lots of food and dancing, and people are happy, and they tell stories and sing. And it's...I don't know. I guess hobbits just like to let everyone know, 'this is the person I've chosen from everyone to share my life with, to walk the road together. This is the person I cherish above all others.'" Thorin was looking up at him, his expression hard to read. "I'm not explaining well," Bilbo said, frustrated. "You should come to a Shire wedding sometime, I'm sure you'd understand then."
"Hm," said Thorin. "Invite me to yours one day, and I shall see if I can understand what all the fuss is about."
Bilbo was about to respond, but then he heard the sound of Fíli's voice from the camp, complaining bitterly: "Mahal's damnation, it's cold!" Kíli's voice joined in soon after, and Bilbo could hear his teeth chattering: "Can we go back to Erebor? This is horrible!"
Bilbo looked down at Thorin in his thin shirt. "Sterner stuff than hobbits?"
Thorin looked both annoyed and chagrined at the same time. "Well, most dwarves are made of sterner stuff than hobbits." He stood, brushing off his plate. "No, keep it," he said as Bilbo tried to shrug out of the coat. "We'll find you something more suitable soon."
He headed back to camp, and soon Bilbo could hear him yelling at his nephews to warm up by packing, they needed to be on the road soon.
Bilbo lingered for a moment, looking out at the ocean, the sea breeze ruffling the fur at his throat.
Wondering why the idea of Thorin attending his wedding made him feel sad.
: : :
"Balin! Balin! The moon was new last night!" said Kíli as they mounted. "You can start teaching Bilbo Khuzdul!"
"Oh, I suppose I can," Balin said, bringing his pony alongside Bilbo's. "Now, it is important to begin with declension. In Westron, conjugation is essential--I'm not saying Khuzdul doesn't have conjugation issues as well, but declension is really the key."
"Ah," said Bilbo, nodding. "I see."
"It's quite simple, really. There are five main cases to remember: the ablative, nominative, accusative, locational, and instrumental." He stopped, pondering. "There's the vocative as well, but that's used rarely, we don't need it to start with."
He started explaining about the ablative case--"used to express motion away from something else, of course"--but got sidetracked into the cultural reasons behind the importance of the case. Bilbo tried to pay attention, but soon was completely lost in a maze of grammar. He would have asked questions, but he couldn't even tell what he wasn't understanding.
Balin had gone on to the accusative case--"for marking the direct object of a transitive verb"--when Thorin kicked his pony into a trot and rode in between them. "By Durin's beard, Balin," he snarled. "You may know a great deal about Khuzdul grammar, but you know nothing of teaching a language."
Balin looked offended. "Oh? I suppose you think you could do better?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
Balin glared at him. "Well then, I shall leave the teaching to you," he announced, falling back in something of a huff.
Thorin rode beside Bilbo for a while in silence, until Bilbo started to wonder if perhaps he was never going to learn Khuzdul at all. Then he pointed at himself. "Khuzd," he said. He pointed at Bilbo. "Melekûn."
Bilbo repeated the words.
Thorin indicated the rest of the party with a sweeping motion. "Khazad."
"Oh, so the plural is made by changing the vowels?"
Thorin shot a triumphant glance at Balin, then back at Bilbo. "Indeed." He pointed to Fíli and Kíli. "Khuzdith."
"Nephew dwarves?" Thorin frowned. "Um...young dwarves?"
Thorin nodded. "So, then. If a horse is kharub, then a young horse is..."
Bilbo did some mental calculations. "Kharubith?"
Thorin slapped his horse's neck, grinning. "You are speaking Khuzdul already."
They rode through the morning, with Bilbo pointing at rivers, birds, trees, and Thorin telling him their names and the different declensions to change what the nouns meant.
The other dwarves trailed slightly behind them; when Bilbo turned back to look at them once he caught Balin and Dwalin sharing a smug look as Thorin was patiently repeating a sentence in Khuzdul. Bilbo raised his eyebrows: apparently Balin had deliberately gotten out of teaching him? Well! Bilbo felt slightly offended--he didn't think he was that bad a student.
Thorin repeated his question more slowly, and Bilbo realized he was waiting for a response. "Oh!" Bilbo blurted, then painstakingly put together, "< The sea--is--big. >"
"Good work," said Thorin, nodding in satisfaction. "You make a satisfactory honorary dwarf."
Bilbo couldn't help it: he threw back his head and laughed.
Daffodil's ears twitched back and she snorted; Thorin looked much the same. "What's so funny?"
"I'm just wondering how I would go about making you all honorary hobbits," Bilbo said. "You'd probably have to attend a dance or something, or learn how to properly steep tea." He wiped his eyes. "Oh, it would be hilarious. The Shire would never be the same."
Thorin looked disgruntled. "I am not unable to dance," he muttered.
"I want to see the Shire someday, Uncle!" said Fíli.
"I want to be an honorary hobbit!" said Kíli.
"I think if you want to be, you can," said Bilbo. He waved his hand. "You are now all officially honorary hobbits."
The nephews cheered, and Balin and Dwalin laughed. Only Thorin still looked annoyed.
"I could have mastered any dance you set me as a challenge," he grumbled before turning back to the language lessons.
----
Note: The poem that Thorin recites is from the end of Cuil nîn prestannen, "My life is changed," a poem written in Sindarin and available here. Translated into English, the words are:
I do not know you-
Why am I stirred?
Why is my laughter so happy?
What is your name?